Words of the Gods
by DeBrabant
Summary: Ares gets a little advice from an unexpected source, and someone has a new job...


Words of the Gods  
By Danii  
Summary: Ares gets some advice from an unexpected source.  
XOVER  
Disclaimer: I own no one.  
Distribution: Take! Put my name on it and all is well.  
Takes Place: Don't remember the name of the ep. The one where Ares was a farmer in Xena's old home...when he got the dog,,,  
  
And now:  
  
Ares, former god of war, knew only one thing about farming.  
  
He hated it.  
  
He hated the monotony. He hated the peace. He hated the plants. He hated the animals (though chasing chickens for dinner was stress-relieving). He hated the horrible living conditions. He hated his neighbor, despite her few appealing characteristics. He hated just about everything, other then his dog, which he hadn't even named yet.  
  
In short, he hated farming, which is why he refused to do it.  
  
Let Xena do it if she liked it so much, he figured. And since that little bardic bimbo seemed to enjoy the repair work, she could do it too. But he was quite content to sit on the porch and wallow in how pitiful his life was now.  
  
However, the former god was interrupted from his thoughts by a strange hissing noise. It sounded as if it was from over his right shoulder, in the grasses of the yard, but looking there, Ares saw nothing that could produce that noise...at first. But looking longer, the wouldn't-be farmer finally saw something in the grass.  
  
There, staring up at him with one rather dissatisfied-looking eye, was a tortoise. A small, green-and-brown tortoise with a wounded eye that gave the impression of being rather offended.  
  
"Shut up, you little reptile, before I make some soup out of you..." Ares snarled at the minute creature. Then he looked at it again. "Then again, I might do that anyway. There's pretty good eating on one of you little buggers..."  
  
"So I've been told..." the tortoise replied mordantly.  
  
It was at this point that Ares' brain stopped for a moment in order to prevent a total breakdown. Now, according to his ears, the tortoise had spoken. But according to his head, which was rather reliable in most cases, tortoises DIDN'T talk. Period. So Ares was in a bit of a predicament, if he could say so. It didn't make it any better that the tortoise was still talking.  
  
"-and I'd have thought that having been such an important god, you would have learned to address your peers with some kind of manners. I mean, I wasn't looking for red carpet, but-"  
  
"Wait!" Ares cried out in the tone of voice most use when asking for mercy, "Wait. Did you just say 'peers'?"  
  
The tortoise snorted, or did the best impression one could do of a snort. "Of course. You were a god, I'm a-"  
  
"Don't even say 'god'..." Ares warned, "Cause then I'll just...I don't even know, but it won't be pretty."  
  
"Fine." The tortoise agreed, "I won't say it, but it's true all the same."  
  
"You..." the former god started to ask slowly, "Are...A...God?"  
  
"Om."  
  
"Um, what?"  
  
"No," the tortoise growled, "Not 'Um', 'Om'. It's my name. The Great God Om, god of Omnia."  
  
"What's that?" Ares inquired, starting to get a handle on the whole 'talking tortoise' thing. He still couldn't accept the 'talking tortoise is a GOD' thing, but the talking thing wasn't making him want to run screaming anymore.  
  
"It's a where, not a what." Om answered irately, "Omnia, on the border of Klatch and-"  
  
"Hold up..." the human begged, "Now, start over again. You're a tortoise."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Who is the Great God Om."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Who has a whole country of followers."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Are they all pygmies?"  
  
"No."  
  
There was a pause as Ares thought about this, which was ended by Om.  
  
"I don't see what's so hard to understand."  
  
Another pause followed.  
  
"But," Ares began, "if you're a Great God, then why are you a tortoise? I mean, gods usually assume the form of lions, or bulls, or..."  
  
"Or swans, or horses..." Om finished tiredly, "Yeah, I know. Let's just say that there are certain situations which call for certain things."  
  
"And this one...called for a tortoise?"  
  
"Precisely," answered Om with the closest thing to a grin a tortoise could manage.  
  
"And what exactly IS the situation?" Ares asked curiously.  
  
"You."  
  
"Me."  
  
"Yes, you."  
  
"WHY?"  
  
Om paused for a moment.  
  
"Because."  
  
"Because WHAT?" Ares was getting a little freaked again.  
  
"Because I had to."  
  
To which Ares did the only thing that would allow him to keep his sanity. He laughed. He laughed long and hard, pushing out the giggles before he went stark raving mad.  
  
"So, let me get this straight," the former god asked with a face that was anything but, "The Great God Om, from a country I've never even heard of, in the form of a turtle, has come to talk to me...because."  
  
"You got it." Om said, sounding satisfied that Ares understood. He was too low to the ground to see his expression. But his satisfaction changed into anger a second later as the former god of war shot up from his chair and began shouting.  
  
"All right, Xena! You can come out now! The joke was funny for a little while, but now it's just-OUCH!"  
  
Ares looked down to see the tortoise at his feet, it's beak holding firmly to the skin of his ankle. At first, he tried to shake it off, but the creature wouldn't budge, so Ares just sat down again with a sigh. Om let go to talk.  
  
"What the hell was that, you big dumb oaf!?" the little tortoise ranted, "Are you trying to screw things up?"  
  
"No!" Ares shouted back, "I'm trying to stop this sick sad joke!"  
  
"It's not a joke!"   
  
"It-"  
  
"It's not...a joke." The tortoise repeated calmly.  
  
Ares was about to argue once more, but something Om's voice made him pause.  
  
"Then what?" he asked the creature, "What do you have to talk to me about?"  
  
"Your godhood..." Om replied simply.  
  
"My LOST godhood?" Ares asked with a self-depreciating sneer.  
  
"Your godhood..." the tortoise/god reiterated.  
  
"What about it?"   
  
"You know," Om said wistfully, "I used to be like you. Authoritative. Strict. Closed-minded. Power-hungry. Commanding. Controlling. A-"  
  
"What...about...it? That's how gods are supposed to be."  
  
"But," the god continued without acknowledging Ares' comment, "Then I met a young man by the name of Brutha. Now, most people didn't think much of him, but I needed him. I needed him, because he was the last person in all of Omnia who believed in me."  
  
"What do you mean?" Ares questioned, "They HAD to believe in you."  
  
"No." Om answered with a shake of his head, "They didn't. They believed in my church. In the priests. In the punishments and books of rules. It is like a donkey that has been whipped once too many times. He stops believing in the master on the other end and only believes in the whip that stings him. No, in all of Omnia, only Brutha believed in me."  
  
"So what does this have to do with me?"  
  
"It's the whole reason why you are where you are now, my boy..."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"You let the whip become the reality, which weakened you till you were open prey for the events that have lead you here. Just as I had done."  
  
"Really..."  
  
"Really, smart-ass...think about it."  
  
And Ares did just that. He thought about how he had run his people, his methods, the way he had acted as a god. He thought about all the petty games he had played, and all the damage he had done to farmers like the one he was supposed to be. He thought about his worshippers, on how stale their offerings had become, how few and far between the true prayers, even from Romans. He thought of all these things, then he looked down to the tortoise.  
  
"I see you understand."  
  
"But...how do you prevent that?" Ares asked desperately. True, he was no longer a god, but it was something he needed to know. "I mean, there HAS to be commandments. There HAS to be punishments. There HAS to be rules."  
  
"Why?" Om asked with a strange sparkle in his eye.  
  
"WHY!?" Ares exclaimed, "What do you mean, why?"  
  
"I'm asking...why?" the tortoise repeated, "I mean, think about THAT. That's the way things were done, right?"  
  
"Yeah, every god did them-"  
  
"And where are they now?"   
  
Ares paused.  
  
"Dead." he answered finally, "Dead or mortal. Or trapped."  
  
"So what does this tell us?"  
  
"It tells us-"  
  
"What it tells us is that tradition isn't necessarily the right way to go..." Om finished, "That THE WAY isn't really the ONLY way."  
  
"I guess...but-"  
  
"But what?" the tortoise/god asked.  
  
"But...then...what is the other way?"  
  
Om seemed to pause for a moment, to think or simply for drama.  
  
"There are many other ways..." the tortoise answered cryptically.  
  
"Well, what about telling me one?" Ares prodded.  
  
Again, Om paused.  
  
"Let them think for themselves."  
  
"WHAT!?"  
  
"I said, 'let them think for themselves'..." Om repeated.  
  
"But that's-"  
  
"Crazy?" the tortoise finished, "So is the idea of a 'twilight of the gods'. But look what happened..."  
  
"But...mortals?"  
  
The tortoise smiled. "There's a lot to learn from them. Trust me, I know. All of them, even the least, have something to teach you. Even if all it is is 'don't eat that sausage-inna-bun'..."  
  
"Really..."  
  
"Really." Om assured him. "Wouldn't you think that if you want to be worshipped by mortals, the best way to learn about them would be to listen to them?"  
  
"I guess so..." Ares agreed, "But I don't understand why you're telling me this. I'm just a mortal now. Human. I'm not a god anymore, so all of this is pointless..."  
  
Om seemed to think about this, then gave a wink to the man above him as he turned around and began to trudge back through the pasture.  
  
"Just keep it in your mind..." the little voice told him as it retreated through the high grass, "It might come in handy, you never know..."  
  
"But...wait!"  
  
"I have to be going now..." the voice said, sounding even fainter as if it had already reached the edge of the field. Then, the tortoise came back into view for a second before he was picked up by a mysterious, yet somehow familiar man.  
  
Ares immediately got up and tried to run to him. "Hey mister, do you think-"  
  
But the man had disappeared, leaving Ares alone. Xena, however, trotted by a minute later.  
  
"Hey, Ares...what's the commotion about?" she asked good-naturedly to the still quiet former god.  
  
Ares didn't answer for a minute, then nodded. "Nothing. Don't worry about it..."  
  
"Well then, I guess then you can get to work at catching a chicken for tonight's dinner then, eh?"   
  
"Yeah..." Ares answered, still gazing at where the man had disappeared, "Sure.  
  
It was then that Xena picked up that something was a little odd with the former god. She waved her hand in front of his eyes.  
  
"Ares?"  
  
"What?" Ares answered in an annoyed moan.  
  
There, that sounded right. "Okay then, see you back at the house."  
  
"Okay, Xena. Bye..."  
  
And so the former god of war began his short walk to the chicken coop, for once thinking not of the carnal pleasure of killing the squawking creatures.  
  
**  
  
Down the road, a man was walking, a one-eyed tortoise in his hand.  
  
"Do you think he got it?"  
  
"I think so."  
  
"Do you think he'll remember it when-"  
  
"Yes, I actually think he will..."  
  
"And do you think he recognized me?"  
  
"Nah, Jox, I don't think he did. You were a little far away for him to see your face and all."  
  
"But-"  
  
"Oh, don't get stupid on me."  
  
"No problem, Great and Powerful God Om..."  
  
"Don't snicker when you say it, Prophet."  
  
"Whatever, Wonderful and Almighty..."  
  
"You're making me regret getting you back, Joxer..."  
  
"No I'm not."  
  
"No, you're not."  
  
"Besides, you do like me."  
  
"I don't play high-stakes poker with gods from other worlds for people I DON'T like..."  
  
"I thought so."  
  
"You know-"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I know I should have told Brutha to stop giving you lessons in piety..."  
  
"What lessons? What piety?"  
  
"Exactly."  
  
"So...are we heading home now?"  
  
"Yes, my most wonderful Cenobiarch..."  
  
"Don't call me that."  
  
"It's your title."  
  
"Don't get me started on YOUR titles..."  
  
"Fine, Joxer...now, do you want to say goodbye to your friends before you really leave for good?"  
  
"Nah, my death shook them up enough. I'll leave it alone. It was nice enough to see them."  
  
"All right. Let's just get Binky and head back home."  
  
"Oh yeah, Binky."  
  
"Where did we put him?"  
  
"Oh dear...Bill is going to kill me..."  
  
"Well, Bill kills every-"  
  
"Not funny."  
  
THE END  
  
  
  



End file.
